


Sea-Glass

by lferion



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Beaches, Boromir as a Child, Dol Amroth, Gen, Promises, TRSB2020, TRSB2020 Treat, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26322853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lferion/pseuds/lferion
Summary: Boromir visits Dol Amroth as a child, and there meets a mysterious Elf by the shore
Relationships: Boromir (Son of Denethor II) & Maglor | Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 30
Kudos: 69
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	Sea-Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/gifts), [Rhapsody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhapsody/gifts).



> Many many thanks to Morgynleri for brainstorming and word-prompts, to Runa (bardcoyote) and all the crew at Write Every Day and the SWG discord, for encouragement, sanity checking, and virtual hugs.
> 
> A TRSB 2020 Treat for Rhapsody, whose lovely art of a bard on the shore was very inspirational.

Boromir did not remember ever seeing the Sea before. He had been told that he had come to Dol Amroth with his Lady Mother as an infant, but he had no memory of it. Now he was almost five, and had his own pony (though he had ridden in the carriage with the nursemaid and his Lady Mother) and in another season he would be a big brother. (Big brothers called their mothers Lady Mother, not ama, according to his Lord Father, who was going to be the Steward of Gondor one day, like Grandfather. Grandfather liked being called grandfather, rather than Your Grace, or Lord Steward.) But Father and Grandfather were both still in Gondor, at least for a while, and he had come to Dol Amroth with his mother, and to his absolute delight, the Sea was right outside his other grandfather, Prince Adrahil's palace, and his mother's rooms had an amazing view. 

Of course, now that he had seen it, he badly wanted to go down to the beach and play in those interesting foaming wavelets, climb on the rocks, and see if there were any fishermen or boatmen who might be persuaded to let him watch, or any other people he could talk to that he didn't already know.

Tomorrow, he was told, when he asked. "Your mother is tired from the journey, and you should rest as well." Boromir had never understood why he should have to rest just because someone else needed to. He wasn't tired at all! But he did know that there was no arguing with that decree, so instead he duly put on his sleeping shirt before he climbed up on the window-seat to watch the waves. He thought he even saw a person, a dark head first bobbing in the water, and then among the rocks, but it probably was only a seal or another animal. The beach that he could see was part of the palace grounds, so there would be no fishermen or boatmen or anyone else not part of the Prince's family or staff. But the waves and the rocks and the seabirds were interesting just themselves, and there was a music to them, sounds he had never heard in Gondor. He fell asleep listening.

* * *

When he awoke, the sun was just rising behind the palace, the low sunbeams glittering on waves that came much further up the beach than they had before. He was still on the window seat, and someone had tucked a blanket around him, but they hadn't picked him up and put him to bed, which made him very happy. And it was tomorrow, so he could go down to the beach. Though he had best put on day clothes first. And find out how to get down to the beach. Without getting in trouble.

Grandfather Adrahil (who was just as happy as his father's father to be Grandfather and not Prince) showed him the family's private stair, and how the gate at the bottom latched. Boromir was delighted to discover he was just tall enough to reach the catch, and from the other side also, which was much trickier to work.

Sulias the nursemaid had declined to venture outside to the beach. Instead, one of the groundsmen was detailed to keep an eye on 'the young lord' (Boromir stood a little straighter at being so called) and unlike the nursemaid, he was nothing loath to let Boromir take his shoes off and walk in the edge of the water. No more than ankle (well, knee) deep, mind you! Though the waves were very gentle in the protected curve of the small bay. The water was cool against his skin. The foam tickled and the sand moved very interestingly as each wave retreated. The rocks beckoned, and he thought there might be movement among them, but when he looked there were only birds, inquisitive and restless. 

After an hour or so of chasing the waves and finding interesting rocks and shells, the groundsman (his name was Emmardil, and he had a son Boromir's age, which was also interesting) said it was time to go back up for luncheon. Boromir went without a fuss, because he already had a Plan taking shape in his mind. And if it was going to work, he had to be Very Good for the rest of the day. And he was hungry, so that was all right.

Someone had made up the window seat as a bed for him while he had been eating his supper, which was wonderful, and he hadn't even asked, which was even better. It was much nicer than the enormous bed, and was also rather easier to get in and out of. He fell asleep to the music of the sea and the high piping of the night birds.

* * *

Several days later, Boromir woke well before the dawn, as he had hoped. The moon was full, sinking low toward the sea, and there was a shining silver path glimmering on the water. The sky was a luminous deep blue, pricked with stars, and the sea murmured encouragingly, the tuneful breeze calling him. Very quietly, Boromir slid from his window-seat bed, and shrugged on his night-robe. Dressing properly would make too much noise, and disturb Sulias beside, but his shoes he had set where he could find them. Out through the long glass door that stood open to let the breeze cool the room after the summer warmth. The terrace stones were smooth, and the moonlight let him see the gap in the hedge between the terrace that he was still small enough to eel through. Now down the stairs, which was a little scary, because there was much less moonlight between the walls, but not too scary. There was nothing to be afraid of, but he went carefully all the same. He left the gate ajar, just a little, so he wouldn't have to find the tricky catch, though he could if he had to. He was going to have to get back up the stairs eventually.

The sand crunched softly under his shoes as Boromir made his way down the beach, barely breathing. The music he had been hearing in snatches since he arrived _was_ coming from the rocks. It wasn't his imagination. (Boromir didn't _imagine_ things, he just noticed things other people didn't.) Between the moonlight and the slowly lightening sky, there was just enough light that the rocks were not just a single black pile, but had edges and shapes. One of the shapes moved against the stars, and was playing a pipe. Not a seal. Not the wind. A person.

Without thinking about it, Boromir walked carefully over to the stones, until he was at the base of the broad shelving rock closest to the sea. The wave fingers were creeping closer, but not yet very close. The music tugged at him. Boromir tucked up the edges of his night things and began to climb the path up the rock the moonlight picked out. Before he knew it, he had reached the place the man — no, Elf, with up-swept ears and moon-pale skin — was sitting, and he scrambled a little to sit next to him, fascinated.

The music stopped. The Elf looked down at him, and Boromir was pierced by the light of the Elf's eyes, like a burning-glass, only moon- and starlight rather than sun. But it didn't burn, and Boromir did not look away. You looked people in the face, when you were going to be a big brother. It was important. (it was also kind of scary, because that light went right down into him, really seeing him. Him, Boromir, a person himself, even if he was not-quite-five.) 

"I shan't eat you, child. Though I do wonder how you got up here without my noticing." There was a different kind of music in his voice, distant and muted, as if not used much, or coming from a long way off. He had turned his glance back to the sea, to the long silver ribbon leading to the westering moon. "Few come to this cove these days. You have been enjoying it, ye?"

"Yes I have. I'd never seen the sea, before. Only the Anduin, which is wide, but you can still see the other side. And it doesn't have waves really." For a long moment they sat together, looking at the moon-washed ocean and the distant stars. It was oddly comfortable. Kind of like if they were brothers, or like brothers might be. "I'm going to be a brother. A big brother. That's why we're here." It occurred to him that the Elf might not know who 'we' was. "Finduilas of Dol Amroth is my mother. I'm Boromir, son of Denethor, son of Ecthelion the Steward of Gondor." That last was said in a rush, as if it were all one long word. 

A smile flickered in the Elf's eyes, crooking the corner of his mouth. "I am called Lark," he said simply, but Boromir could somehow tell there was more to it than that.

"I had a big brother, once. And was one myself." He sighed, and turned those disconcertingly bright eyes on Boromir once again. "Not, in the end, a good son or a good brother, for I lost them all."

How do you lose a brother? Boromir wondered. "Did you look for them when you lost them? Maybe you should look again. I always have to look twice for things I lose." Boromir looked down at his hands. "Sometimes three times." What if he managed to lose _his_ brother ? (Or sister, but everyone said the baby would be a boy, so.) And what kind of lost? Some kinds of lost never got found again. "I don't know how to be a brother. I want to do it right. Not lose them."

Again the flickering smile. "Love them. Listen to them. Let them make mistakes. Teach them what you know. Nobody knows to start with. You will learn together. Do what you can. Mostly, love them. Can you do that? I think you can."

Put that way, it sounded simple. It probably wasn't as simple as it sounded though. Most things weren't. But Boromir thought he could do it, and he did want to. But it shouldn't just be him doing. Greatly daring (for he was talking to an Elf, who looked like someone out of legend with his shining eyes and voice that said so many things only some of which were words) Boromir sat up straight and looked Lark right in those bright eyes. "I will if you will. I'll be the best brother I can be, if you will promise me you'll look again for yours. Even across the sea if you have to." Boromir was not at all clear about what the Uttermost West was about, but he knew that it was important to Elves, and the stories said they would all sail back there someday. Or be reborn there. It was confusing. "Even in the Uttermost West." 

Lark had raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline, but Boromir wasn't going to back down. This was Important. It Mattered. For both of them. It just did.

Slowly, solemnly, Lark inclined his head, and said, "As Boromir promises to do his best to be a good brother, I promise to seek mine, where e're they might be."

Boromir nodded firmly. "I promise to be the best brother I can be, and the Sea and Stars witness both our words." He'd gotten that last from a story, one of the stories that talked about the uttermost West. 

A bright star low on the horizon twinkled and flashed. A wave curled up the beach, breaking against the stone they were sitting on, sending spray misting over them both.

Lark laughed. "A good brother. Heard and witnessed. More important than being a good son." He looked to the East and gave Boromir's shoulder a brief squeeze. "Now scoot. You are going to be late. And the less late, the better." Somehow Lark (his name couldn't really be Lark, could it? It should be something more than that) was managing to look like nothing more than sea-mist, rock-shadow, a reflection seen through sea-glass. "You will do very well, Boromir the Bold."

The sky was much lighter now, the stars hidden, the moon sinking pale into the sea through the haze of rose gold at the horizon. He wasn't going to be back in his room in time, and was going to be in so much trouble. But it had been worth it. Boromir the Bold. He liked that.

* * *

When next Boromir was allowed to go down to the beach, Lark was gone. He never told anyone but Faramir about that summer, and even then he did not speak of the Elf, or what he had said. Sometimes Boromir thought he might have dreamed the entire thing, but waves still sang, and he never forgot the star-brightness of the Elf's eyes, nor the promise he had given, and the one he had been given in return.

* * *

* * *


End file.
